[King's Landing - Red Keep, Throne Room]
As the bells tolled through the streets of King's Landing, Varys and Littlefinger looked up from their conversation in the throne room to see what was causing the commotion. The sound of hooves pounding against the cobblestone streets grew louder and louder until they could see a sea of wights, led by the Night King himself, riding on Viserion, the dragon that had once belonged to Daenerys Targaryen.
Littlefinger's eyes widened in confusion as he took in the sight before him. "By the gods, how many of them are there?" he exclaimed.
Varys, ever the voice of reason, shook his head. "It seems we underestimated the Night King's power," he said grimly. "He has somehow managed to raise even more wights since then."
As the Night King approached the Red Keep, his army of wights closing in behind him, Littlefinger felt a cold dread creeping up his spine. He knew that if the Night King breached the walls of King's Landing, all would be lost. But he also knew that neither he nor Varys possessed the ability to stop the Night King.
"What do we do now?" Littlefinger asked desperately, looking to Varys for guidance.
But Varys simply shrugged, his expression grim. "We must rely on others to save us this time," he said. "The living will have to find a way to defeat the dead."
"By the gods," Littlefinger breathed, "where did all these wights come from?"
Varys smiled slyly, his voice dripping with malice. "Oh, Lord Baelish," he said, "you really do underestimate the power of death. It seems that he was able to raise quite a few more soldiers from among the corpses of those who fell during the War of the Five Kings. You remember that little conflict, don't you? The one you so carefully orchestrated." He chuckled dryly. "Oh, Lord Baelish, are you really that naive? You thought you could start a war and not have it escalate beyond your control?"
Littlefinger looked around in confusion, his eyes wide with disbelief. "But... but I thought we had killed most of them," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Varys chuckled dryly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, but you forget, Lord Baelish. Your ambition has a way of multiplying the bodies it leaves in its wake."
Littlefinger's face reddened with anger, but he said nothing, knowing that Varys spoke the truth. The Master of Whisperers continued, his voice cold and calculating. "You see, when you played your little game of chaos during the War of the Five Kings, you didn't just kill off armies of men. You also unleashed a plague of the dead upon the land. And now, they mqrch at the behest of the Night King, fueled by your own greed and stupidity."
The air was heavy with tension as the two men locked eyes, each one aware of the other's guilt in the destruction that lay before them.
"And so, Lord Baelish," Varys said, his voice dripping with malice. "It seems that your ambition has come full circle. You may have brought about the very end of the world you sought to rule."
Littlefinger trembled with rage, knowing that he had been outmaneuvered once again by the cunning eunuch. But even as he plotted his revenge, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of admiration for Varys's genius. For in the world of Game of Thrones, sometimes the very worst villains were also the most brilliant strategists.
Their conversation halted as the doors to the Throne Room opened.
"I must admit, I didn't expect you to come here today," Varys said, eyeing Sansa Stark as she entered the room, flanked by four Vale knights.
Sansa glided across the floor, her gaze fixed on the two men. She was a vision in white silk and blue embroidery, her beauty radiating like a beacon despite the somber atmosphere. But there was a steely determination in her eyes that belied her youthful appearance.
Littlefinger, oblivious to Sansa's true feelings towards him, stood with a smug smile spreading across his face. He had been manipulating events for yeas, carefully orchestrating the downfall of her family and the rise of his own power. And now, with the chaos and destruction of the Great War, he was on the brink of achieving his ultimate goal: the Iron Throne.
But Sansa's anger and hatred towards him burned brighter than evrr. She knew that he had started the war, that he had betrayed her family and sacrificed countless lives for his own gain. She had been playing along, pretending to be his loyal ally, all the while secretly plotting her revenge.
Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine as she remembered all the pain and suffering that Littlefinger had caused her family. Her mother, Catelyn, and brother, Robb, along with his wife and unborn child, had been murdered by the Freys and Boltons at the Red Wedding, and her father, Eddard, had been executed by order of King Joffrey.
Rickon, her youngest brother, had been captured by the Karstarks and given to Ramsay Bolton, the son of the man who had betrayed her brother, whom she had been forced to wed. Her 'husband' would kill Rickon in what was now known as the Battle Of The Bastards.
But despite all this, Littlefinger still stood before her, smiling as though he had done nothing wrong.
"What brings you here, my lady?" Littlefinger asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Have you come to accept my proposal?"
Sansa ignored this and fixed her gaze on Littlefinger. "I have come to ask you a question," she said, her voice steady. "Why did you start this war of the five kings? Why did you betray my family and ally yourself with the Lannisters?"
Littlefinger leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together. "Ah, my dear Sansa," he purred. "You wound me with your accusations. I am simply a humble advisor, trying to do what is best for the realm. And besides, I nevr betrayed anyone. I merely saw an opportunity to advance my own interests, just as any good politician would."
Varys watched the exchange with interest, his spider-like eyes darting back and forth between the two speakers. He knew that both Littlefinger and Sansa were clever and cunning, and he wondered which one of them would emerge victorious from this confrontation.
Varys stepped forward, his fingers steepled together in thought. "The War of Five Kings was a complex web of alliances and betrayals, my lady," he said. "Many factors contributed to its outbreak, but ultimately it was the ambition of men and women like Cersei Lannister and Tywin Lannister that led to the destruction of your family and so many others."
Sansa's fist tightened, her anger plain to see. "And what of you, Lord Baelish? You presented yourself as a friend to my father, yet you turned against him and supported the Lannisters. Why?"
Littlefinger shrugged, his smile nevr wavering. "Why, my dear Sansa, I did what any smart man would do in such circumstances. I followed the path that promised me the most power and wealth. And besides, I had no love for your father or brother. They were weak and foolish leaders, blind to the threats around them."
Varys nodded in agreement, his expression somber. "Yes, Lady Sansa. Your family made many mistakes, and their downfall was tragic, but it also created opportunities for those of us who knew how to seize them."
Sansa straightened her back, and looked Littlefinger directly in the eye.
"You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges... Lord Baelish?"
A look of confusion crossed Littlefinger's face.
"Lady Sansa asked you a question," one of the Vale knights told him.
"Lady Sansa, forgive me. I'm a bit confused."
"Which charges confuse you? Let's start with the simplest one. You murdered my aunt, Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the Moon Door and watched her fall. Do you deny it?"
"I did it to protect you."
"You did it to take power in the Vale. Earlier, you conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?"
"Whatever your aunt might have told you, she was a troubled woman. She imagined enemies everywhere."
"You had Aunt Lysa send a letter to our parents, telling them it was the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn when really it was you. The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was you who started it. Do you deny it?" Her voice began to raise as she listed off what he had done.
"I know of no such letter."
"You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray my father, Ned Stark. Thanks to your treachery, he was imprisoned, and later executed on false charges of treason. Do you deny it?"
"I deny it. None of you were there to see what happened. None of you knows the truth."
"You held a knife to his throat. You said, 'I did warn you not to trust me'."
Bran had sent her another letter from the Isle Of Faces, describing what he saw happen on the day of their father's arrest.
She could see the shock on his face, though he tried to hide it.
"You told my mother this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister. But that was another one of your lies. It was yours."
"Lady Sansa, I have known you sincr you were a girl. I've protected you..."
"Protected me? By selling me to the Boltons?"
"If we could speak alone, I can explain everything."
"Sometimes when I'm trying to understand a person's motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What's the worst reason you have for turning me against my sister? That's what you do, isn't it? That's what you've alwys done. Turn family against family, turn sister against sister. That's what you did to my mother and Aunt Lysa, and that's what you tried to do to us."
In addition to proposing a marriage between them, he had steadfastly tried to convince Sansa that Arya had become evil. How she was nothing but a ruthless killer, whose bloodlust could nevr be satiated.
"Sansa, please..."
"I'm a slow learner. It's true. But I learn."
"Give me a chance to defend myself. I deserve that."
Sansa said nothing.
"Sansa, I beg you. I loved your mother since the time I was a boy."
"And yet you betrayed her."
"I loved you. More than anyone."
"And yet you betrayed me." She responded. "When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there's no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will nevr forget them."
Varys and Sansa watched as Lord Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger, was led away in chains by a contingent of Vale knights. The once-powerful master manipulator had been accused of starting the War of the Five Kings, a conflict that had ravaged the Seven Kingdoms for yeats and cost countless lives.
As the knights dragged Littlefinger away, he screamed and hollered, pleading with Sansa to reconsider his fate. But the young woman stood firm, her face a mask of steel as she refused to give in to his begging.
"My Lady," Varys said, nodding his head in approval. "You have proven yourself to be a true player in this game of thrones. Your ability to adapt to the harsh realities of our world is truly impressive."
Sansa gave a slight smile, her eyes flashing with determination. "I had no choice," she admitted, "It is what honour demands."
Littlefinger's cries grew louder and more desperate as the Vale knights dragged him away, but Sansa remained unmoved. She knew that justice must be served, even if it meant making difficult decisions. As she watched the scene unfold before her, she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and strength wash over her. She had faced down one of the most powerful men in Westeros, and emerged victorious.